


The Red Winter

by NaturalEvil



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, M/M, Oral Fixation, POV First Person, Self-Hatred, infantilization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-24 02:39:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1588562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaturalEvil/pseuds/NaturalEvil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dante is nowhere to be found and his Doppelganger has taken his place at Devil May Cry. He's claimed everything to use as he pleases, and that includes Nero. How much can Nero stand before he finally breaks?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gift of Taste

**Author's Note:**

> This fics told for the POV of Dark!Dante or Doppleganger!Dante, not the Uncle Dante we all know and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter is kinda graphic. So if you want to skip to chapter 2 that's cool, you won't miss anything.

I love him…really I do.

I love him the way a predator loves its prey, as he prefers pain over pleasure, an absolutely delightful trait. To feel him writhing in my arms, tears streaming down his beautiful face, overwhelmed by being taken by one he could never bring himself to love. Even though he may have demonic blood, he is still human enough to feel me touching him, to feel me inside his warm soft body, his muscles tightening around me with each hard thrust that is driving him towards the edge. I am happy to say that I was the man who was given the gift to taste what has never been tasted before.

My dear sweet Nero…

He is so petite in comparison to my grand stature; naked and vulnerable, while I remained fully clothed, my trousers pushed down just enough for me to impale him. He is on his back, facing me, his trembling legs spread wide. I smile impishly as I brush my fingers through those mercury locks, massaging his scalp as I leaned into the crook of his neck and breathed in his candied scent. I get a muffled whimper as he tried to pull away, but I had a nice grip and managed to keep him in place. Before all this began I had tied some cloth around his mouth to keep him from making too much noise, screaming and yelling would ruin the mood for me. I also have never cared much for flailing either, and had tied his wrists together as well…

His hands clasped together as if in prayer, powder blue eyes shut tight, I can almost laugh at the irony. A demon praying to a god for deliverance from another. Saliva dripped down his chin from attempting to speak but being unable to do so, his skin rosy and flushed from my lustful actions, his bare shoulders trembling violently from suppressed sobs. I grinned as I heard his breathing deepening, pleasure building in places he never thought was possible. 

Needless to say I continue my assault, my breathing becoming uneven as I treaded on enchanted ground, my heart beating out of rhythm. My calm composure shatters as I throw my head back with a strangled yell, releasing my seed inside of him. I closed my eyes as I heard him moan, felt him squirm, clenching his hands into tight fists as my warmth enveloped him completely, that devils arm casting off a radiant blue hue. I unthreaded my fingers from his mercury tresses, massaging his scalp lightly before pulling my hand away.

He lay motionless after a few moments, his ragged breathing the only indication that he is still alive. He whimpered in pain as I pulled myself out of him, his blood and my semen staining the sheets with droplets of red and white. I smirked as I shook myself off before pulling my trousers up. The boy turned his head to the side to get a better view of me as I gently leaned down and planted a kiss on the side of his neck, causing him to shudder and flinch at the unwanted contact.

His sterling hair strewn across his prepossessing face like some seductive Narcissus, I smiled as I untied the cloth from around his mouth, flinging the fabric to the side before doing the same to the bindings around his wrists. He refused to move from his place on the bed, his arms lying limply next to his body like a broken doll, his legs trembling uncontrollably, saliva dripping down his chin. He looked up at me with such malice and actual hate that, had I been any other man, I would’ve wilted under his gaze.

But no, I simply smile and cross my arms firmly over my chest, content with what I had just done. He looked up at me, still glowering as he wrapped his arms around his trembling shoulders, tears of rage streaming down his cheeks. He hated me, that much I knew from his body language, he didn’t have to say a word, his expression alone told me everything I needed to know.

I brought my hand out to brush some of his hair out of his eyes, but he swatted it away with his demon arm, those eyes locked onto mine, teeth gnashed together. “Don’t you fucking touch me!” He snarled at me through clenched teeth, his voice broken and high-pitched. He wiped his eyes with his shaking fist, but still more tears fell. He looked so small lying there, then again, I was twice as big as he was…

Hell, I might as well have fucked a child.       

 I snatch him by his devils wrist and he panics, sobbing as he beats my chest with ineffective blows as I pull him into a tight embrace, pressing my mouth against his forehead, shushing his sobs the way a parent would comfort their crying child. He pushes vainly against my chest to get away, but due to either exhaustion or my assault or both, he stops, his hands falling to his sides as he lies almost limply in my arms, and cries. I smile as I lick my lips with my tongue.

Battered and broken, he burrows his face in my chest and cries, because even though I was the one to cause him so much pain, I’m the only person in the world he can run to for compassion. I plant a tender kiss on his forehead, and he in turn bites my chest, his hands clutching at my shirt to keep from trembling. “Shhhhhhh…it’s okay.” I coo as I breathe in the scent of his skin, stroking his head softly. He continues shaking as he lays his head against my chest, letting out a trembling breath, not saying a word.

How long we remained in that position I’ll never know, it wasn’t until I unraveled myself from our embrace did he manage to dry his tears. I got up off the bed and stepped back to get a better look at him. He kept his head down, silver locks falling across his bloodshot eyes as he crossed his legs in an attempt to cover his private places. I couldn’t help but smile, for I had done this more than once and yet he still felt self-conscious about his lovely little body. I let out a soft sigh as I slowly strip my black long-coat from my shoulders and handed it to the shivering boy who hesitated before taking it between his shaking fingers.

I turn to leave as he wrapped it around his naked body as a makeshift blanket. Out of the corner of my eye I see him snuggling into it for warmth, and I couldn’t help but smile as I walked out, leaving him alone with his thoughts and my deeds. As I walked out the door I remember hearing a very soft sob followed by a very faint whisper I’m sure he had not meant for me to hear. 

“Dan…te…”  

 


	2. Sapphire Flare

After those little sessions of ours, Nero would go into a near catatonic state, lying on the bed, curled up like a fetus in the womb. This wouldn’t last for very long as he would snap out of it in an hour or so. I will admit that I still don’t know why he does that, I’m not for certain if it is intentional or not. Perhaps that’s his way of coping with my particular _interest_ in him, as I’m sure no other had shown him before, man or demon, and certainly not an abomination like that damned _half-breed bastard_. I remember the very first time I had shown Nero attention and made my intentions obvious, it was very different, for I was unprepared and he had put up a fight. I still have the faint scars on my person where he had attempted to snap my neck with that devil bringer of his, but I had put a quick stop to that, it was very simple. I would like to go into detail, but I’ll save that story for another night, I need my blood for my cerebrum as opposed to my masculine organ, thank you very much. 

As I headed downstairs I noticed that my trousers were still undone, and buttoned them before heading into the kitchen to wash my hands. I stepped to the sink and turned on the water, cleaning them with soap and warm water, getting under my fingernails to scrape away the dried blood. I then turned my attention towards the coffee maker that had been rarely used until I got here.

I leaned against the counter, flexing my fingers, smiling gently as the black liquid bubbled into the pot, filling the air with its aroma. I paused when I heard the sound of a door opening on the second floor, and brought my gaze up towards the ceiling, listening intently. I heard the sound of his footsteps, soft footsteps that staggered down the steps, followed by a few murmured curses, like he knew that I was listening and didn’t want me to hear. I smirked, crossing my arms over my chest as Nero came into view; he was clutching the soiled bed sheets and limping slightly, doing his best to hide it. He was dressed sloppily in a loose-fit pair of grey sweat pants, and had no shirt on. He seemed to be heading to the washroom to clean the sheets, as that was his bed that we were together in after all.

Needless to say I was a bit surprised to see him, as I’ve grown so accustomed to him just lying wherever it is I leave him for at least an hour or so. Maybe he’s getting used to my treatment of him; if that’s the case, I’ll have to change that. “Hello Nero.” I purred, trying to soften my voice after our little get-together. “Don’t talk to me…” he snarled through clenched teeth, his voice was broken and trying to mend itself, to sound hostile and defiant, but even then it was so thin I could snap it in two if it were tangible. I shrugged my shoulders as I smiled kindly at him, letting him know that no matter what tone he took with me, it would not change my good mood.

He continued to glower at me even as I turned my back to him to pour myself a cup of coffee, taking a few sips of the scalding hot liquid, but it didn’t bother me. Without breathing another word, Nero turned and headed into the washroom. My red eyes followed his movements, that faltering limp that he tried so very hard to hide, probably not wanting to show that I had hurt him so badly in such an intimate place. Or maybe he thought that if I saw him limp it would give me some form of satisfaction, and it does. He hasn’t even taken a shower yet either, I could tell that by the greasy stain blossoming on the seat of his pants, getting a little bigger with each step he took. He limped out of my view, and I heard the door to the washroom opening and closing.

I set my mug down on the counter and walked out of the kitchen, heading towards the washroom. I opened the door to a slit and peered inside, watching Nero fumble with the washing machine. He crammed the soiled sheets into its mouth before taking the cap off a large container of bleach, soaking the fabric until the odor was so strong that it overpowered any taste I had in my mouth. He closed the door to the washing machine and turned it on before taking a step back, wrapping his arms around his body, shivering as if he were cold.

I entered the room, and he was either too preoccupied with the machine to pay me any mind or he simply did not realize that I was there. It seemed to be the latter as he let out a soft gasp as I wrapped my arms around his waist. He tried to turn his head away but I grabbed his chin, holding him in place as I leaned in and pinched his earlobe between my teeth, causing him to shudder violently in my arms, blue eyes fluttering shut. “St-stop…stop. Please.” The weak aggression he had addressed me with before had died away like it always does, leaving him whimpering as he tried to pry my hands from his body.

At first I could not understand for the life of me why Nero hardly ever fought back. He was more than capable of doing so. He owned a revolver and that broad sword, and from the few fights I’ve seen him in, he’s very skilled with them both, and he’s especially creative with that little trick up his sleeve. He is at least partially human; however, if he was more or less than that half-bred _devil hunter_ then I’m not so sure. From my understanding, when it comes to two different bloodlines intermingling with each other, there are going to be some conflicts, as one will be stronger and try to overpower the other. You know, dominant genes and what-not. In this case, what I think keeps him from fighting me off and outright defying my advances is his devil’s blood. Demons, at the most basic level, especially young ones like Nero, wish to become mates to older, stronger demons, for protection and to _not_ get eaten, although for someone like him these urges would more than likely be subconscious. In other words, Nero’s devil’s blood is _making_ him open himself up to me, probably because I smell similar to that mongrel son of a bitch that he seems so fond of. And since he does not understand this, he hates himself for it. Also, in all honesty, both demons and humans are all just petty animals right down to the very core, with self-preservation being one of the most basic needs of all living things.

I couldn’t help but grin as I turned him around to face me, pushing him up against the washing machine. He hung his head to avoid looking at me, bringing his devils arm up to my chest in a wasted attempt to push me away. I grabbed his demon arm, which flashed brightly when I touched it, holding it in my hand, running my thumb over the rough reptilian hide. Nero sank his teeth into his bottom lip as I looked intently at the light in his arm, watching it shine brilliantly like a sapphire flare. He seemed surprised to say the least, but dared not to move, his human hand clutching at the edge of the machine.

“How’d you get this arm?” I questioned as I ran my fingers down his hand and up his wrist, tracing the glimmering trail of light the way I would follow a vein under the skin. Nero swallowed uncomfortably, “You don’t know?” he murmured, disbelieving, watching every move I made with my hand. “I don’t know because you never _told_ me.” I remarked as I took my hand away, gazing in hidden fascination as the light died down to a soft flicker of a candle. Nero scoffed. “A fight, I got it in a fight. I was protecting…someone. The demon was about to get her in the face but I got in the way, it got my arm instead. Next thing I know, this happens.” He flexed the fingers of his appendage.

“Really? And how did you feel about that?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. He looked up at me with a twisted expression, teeth gnashed together, the claws of his demon arm clenching together in a tight fist. “What are you, my fucking therapist?” He snarled. I could tell now that it was a sensitive subject, but I did not appreciate his tone, _at all_.

Nero cried out in shock as my hand shot out and snatched him by his human wrist, yanking him towards me, wrapping my arm around his shoulders to keep him in place. He tried to pull away until he felt my teeth brush up against the sensitive skin on his exposed throat. I could feel his heart beating rapidly as I held him close to my chest in a position that may have looked loving to outside spectators ignorant of the situation. “ _Nero…”_ I sighed heavily into his neck, my breath feeling hot against his skin. “I only asked you a simple question; there is no need for words like that.” The boy was silent, flinching as I pressed my lips against his jugular vein. “No need at all…” I whispered.

He jerked when the loud buzzer went off and the washing machine shuttered to a halt.  I looked at the now inert device, “You have some laundry to do.” I sighed as I ran my fingers through his hair before letting him go. He staggered away from me until his back met uncomfortably with the washing machine, hiding his devil arm behind his back, his human hand pressed hard against the spot on his neck where I had kissed him, acting as if I had bitten him hard enough to break the skin and was trying to stop the flow of blood.  He was still in that same position even when I turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind me.


	3. Interesting

I walked back into the kitchen, picked up my mug of coffee and headed into the main room; sipping it though it had long since gone cold. Judging from the sounds coming from the washroom, Nero was stuffing the sheets into the dryer, and after a few hissed curses had managed to get it to start working, only to have it give out a few minutes later. I chuckled when I heard him beat his fist into the machine, hissing obscenities at it as if it were animate and was malfunctioning intentionally just to upset him. I continued drinking my coffee as I walked over and sat at the desk, leaning back into the chair, my feet flat on the floor. I set my mug down and glanced over the desk, my attention settling on a small picture frame that I had never paid any mind to before.

I reached over and picked it up, eyeing the woman in the photo. She seemed refined and young, with long golden-blonde hair, wearing a coat the color of red wine. I suppose you could say that she was attractive, if humans could even _be_ considered attractive. This was the woman who tainted a powerful devil’s blood with her own weak lineage, only to produce an atrocity. I growled bitterly, anger boiling inside of me as I set the picture face-down on the desk with a hard slap, not wanting to gaze at it any longer. What could a demon possibly see in a human? They were so fragile and easy to break, both physically and mentally, that they may as well have been made of glass. They allow their emotions to run rampant and dictate their choices, in very few cases for the best, although in most, the absolute worst. They kill and maim and destroy one another, and yet believe demons to be the evil ones.

I shook my head, drinking the rest of my coffee before heading towards the billiard table and picking up a pool cue. As pool was a fine way to pass the time.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Nero didn’t come out of the washroom till much later with the sheets bunched up sloppily in his arms, with the way he treated the fabric I was surprised he didn’t just drag them across the floor. He did his best to ignore me as he walked across the room and headed up the stairs. “Sweet dreams, Nero.” I purred as I leaned on my pool cue, a few shots away from finishing another game. The boy paused momentarily, his face twisted into a hard mask of anger, before bringing up his devils hand and making an incredibly rude hand gesture at me. I couldn’t help but chuckle, many times I forget that he’s still so young and prone to the immature use of hand gestures since he’s unable to express his emotions properly. He headed into his bedroom, slamming the door and locking it with a hard click.

I clicked my tongue before turning back to my game, hitting the cue-ball dead on, cracking it against another before falling into the pocket. I leaned back up and exhaled as I rested the pool cue on my shoulder, looking down at the colored spheres on the table. It was hard to believe that this was once considered a game fit for kings and nobles, many of whom I myself had played against, masquerading as one of their own. But then again, it’s been played by people from all walks of life since its inception. And look how far both it and I have come, alone in a dingy little shop off in some nameless city.

 I curled my lips into a bitter sneer as I snatched the dusty piece of cue-tip chalk from the edge of the table, applying it to the tip of my cue stick before returning to the game, dusting the blue powder onto my trousers. I hit the rest of the billiard balls into their pockets before taking them all out again and starting a new game. It was nearly two in the morning, and I’ve never had any real need to sleep, only choosing to do so when I’m so jaded from my waking life that there is nothing for me to do except sleep. But since this game has my attention and is bringing back many fond memories, I see no harm in entertaining myself until either Nero wakes up or that phone rings.    

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

It was about ten o’ clock in the morning when Nero trudged down the steps, he was fully dressed, massaging the drowsiness from his eyes with his clenched devils fist. I was sitting at the desk, disinterestedly flipping through a gentleman’s interest magazine that I had found stuffed in one of the drawers. I can hardly see the appeal of these women; they all looked so artificial, exposing those ugly little holes between their legs as if trying to enchant the viewer. All I felt was infinite disgust as I turned page after page. The fact that human males find these plastic monstrosities attractive was something so ridiculous that it made me want to throw my head back and have a hearty laugh.

 I stuffed the magazine back into the drawer as Nero brushed passed me and headed into the kitchen “How’d you sleep?” I questioned before rising from the chair, stretching my arms above my head, listening to my bones pop. Nero turned and glowered at me, his lips twisted into a half-hearted grimace, pale blue eyes fighting to stay awake. “I didn’t. And you playing pool all night sure as hell didn’t help.” He growled out before glancing down at the empty coffee pot. “Hey, where’s the coffee?” I shrugged my shoulders, having drank it all the night before. “It’s gone.”

“Shit!” He whined in frustration before shoving passed me and leaning against the desk, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, his devils arm emitting a harsh blue glow. I stood staring at the appendage in interest. It seems to be connected to his emotions, both positive and negative, and was extremely volatile as Nero is a very passionate person.  I chuckled as the youth huffed, glancing at the rotary phone every now and then, drumming his fingers in impatience. I snickered softly as I noticed several bruises I had suckled into his neck the night before had not faded in the slightest, as he hasn’t been healing nearly as fast as normal lately, and I’m not really certain as to why, but it’s alright with me.

Nero tried to ignore me, turning his attention down to the picture frame that lay on the desk, face-down, the woman in the photograph out of my sight. Nero looked up at me as if I had horribly insulted him by displaying it in such a way, his eyes sharp and filled with unspoken resentment, his devil arm ablaze with a burning blue light, expressing what he felt so vividly that no words were needed between us. The boy swallowed dryly before reaching down and picking it up carefully with his human hand as if he were handling something fragile and precious like a dove’s egg. He licked his dry lips as he set the photo of the blonde woman back up, in my plain sight.

Any shred contentment I felt before flocked away when I set my eyes on that woman’s face. A sudden feeling of anger swelled in my chest at the sight of her, infuriating me. I clenched my hand into a tight fist as I walked over towards him, chuckling bitterly as the boy swallowed uncomfortably, visibly insecure as I stood in front of him. He turned his face away as I leaned in close to him, brushing my lips over his cheek gently. His lips curled back into a demented grimace, porcelain teeth grit together tightly as I sank my teeth into the soft skin, breaking it, blood weeping out of the wound. A broken sound rose and died in his throat as he pressed his hand against my chest to push me away. I kissed the open wound feverishly, the anger that burned in my chest slowly died down as his warm blood tingled deliciously on my lips. I looked down to see the light in his arm dying down to a dull glow, soft and weak like a dying blue candle.

“L-let go...Dante…”  

I don’t recall what happened, what I had done when he said that name, but I know it was because he had said that half-bred bastards name so close to me. I looked down to see Nero doubled over in a mixture of pain and shock, his devil hand pressed hard against his mouth, blood seeping through his fingers and down his chin where it dripped onto the carpet. He looked up at me with hurt and bewildered eyes, his mind struggling to comprehend what it was he had done wrong to deserve such a blow. I assume that he didn’t realize what he had said, he looked so bewildered.

I grit my teeth; even now that son of a bitch was still on his mind.

 I made sure the boy was watching as I snatched the picture frame from the desk and slammed it face down, hard. Nero flinched at the sound of glass cracking, wood splintering, and paper tearing. He gasped, horrified, the throbbing pain in his mouth and cheek forgotten as he glared scornfully at me, but did nothing. The boy was silent, swallowing constantly, tears stinging his eyes. I couldn’t help but smirk, as his expression was that of an angry child, helpless, vulnerable, and furious.   

I let the picture drop to the floor with a crash, shards of glass scattering at my feet before walking passed Nero, licking the blood off my lips as I headed up the stairs, glancing back at him as he knelt down and picked up the shards of glass with trembling hands. I narrowed my eyes when I noticed him stealing glances at the phone in such a desperate way that it almost seemed like he was expecting for it to ring.    

I headed into his bedroom, finding my coat crumpled on the floor in a heap, and picked it up, folding it nicely my arms. I was about to leave as I looked down at his unmade bed, noticing the ugly brown splotches that stained the sheets. It reminded me of an ancient practice that husbands used to perform upon their new brides. On their wedding night it was expected of the woman to lie with her husband, filling out the first of her many wifely duties. The blood that stained the sheets was proof of her virginity, that she had been with no other. In some cases they would even hang the bed sheets for all to see. I shook my head, humans and their pitiful social constructs, creating such an idiotic notion that should have been slaughtered the moment it was conceived. Nevertheless, looking at those splattered stains, it seems like Nero’s excessive use of bleach did not produce the results he had wanted.

I walked out with my coat in my arms, and headed into my own room at the opposite end of the hallway, glancing down at the first floor to see that Nero had cleaned up the shattered pieces of the picture frame, and was folding up the ripped photograph, sticking it in his pants pocket. The boy sighed heavily as he ran his human hand through his disheveled silver hair before leaning against the desk, wiping away the blood that stained his face. I entered the barren bedroom, laying my coat across the unused bed before sitting down beside it. I drew in a deep breath as I looked around the sparsely furnished bedroom, it was small, but I hardly spent any time in there, so that did not bother me.

My gaze fell upon the old phone that I had set up on the dresser across from the bed, hardly touched but functional. I had found it stuffed in the closet of this room, covered in dust and forgotten. When I had plugged it in and heard a dial tone, it worked perfectly fine, but it won’t make any noise at all. It’s line is also tied in with the one downstairs. My eyes widened in surprise as the piercing ring of that phone echoed throughout the shop, but was quickly silenced as Nero answered it. “Devilmaycry!” I heard him blurt into the receiver. No more sounds came after that. I tilted my head to the side before rising from my seat on the bed and picking up the soundless phone out of curiosity. I held it close to my ear, but slanted enough so that my breathing could not be heard.

“Nero, I’m sorry we haven’t been calling.” I heard a woman’s silky voice, warm, honeyed, almost...motherly.  Who is this?

“Th-that’s okay Trish. You find anything? Anything at all? I…I can’t take much more of this.” Nero’s voice was hushed to a trembling whisper.

“Lady and I’ve been working on this non-stop, Nero. And from what we’ve found, things aren’t looking very good for Dante...”

I heard a sharp gasp from Nero, but he quickly cleared his throat.

“Uhhh, yes ma’am, so you’re having a problem with some demons that are w-wandering near your property…” I heard him say louder than necessary, his voice echoing throughout the shop, trying to put up a front. My goodness, he sounded so artificial and fake.

The woman continued. “There’s a lot to go over, we can’t do this over the phone, Nero. Look, Lady and I are in town, is there some place you want to meet up so we can talk?”

There was a pause, Nero was thinking.

“Fredi’s diner…” I heard him mumble into the receiver.

A diner?

“Okay, we’ll meet at Fredi’s. Try to keep yourself together Nero. Lady and I can’t come here often, we need to stay as far away from him as possible.”

“Yeah, too bad I don’t have that option.” Nero spat bitterly, before saying aloud. “Alright, I have your address, anything else ma’am?” I had to sink my teeth into my bottom lip to keep from laughing, this boy is a terrible liar.

The woman chuckled warmly. “Alright Nero, hang in there. We’ll be waiting.” She hung up, and Nero did likewise a few moments later.

I set the phone back in its cradle, not at all alarmed at what I just heard, but more curious as to how long these little gatherings have been going on. I heard Nero’s footfalls as he traveled up the steps and entered his room. I smirked as I rose from the bed and headed out into the hallway, leaning against the wall. I was silent as I listened to the sounds he made as he rustled about in his room, grabbing his weapons to make his lie more authentic. I smirked as the boy came into view, his sword was slung over his back, his gun holstered on his thigh. Nero’s confused and somewhat panicked expression told me that he did not expect to find me standing there. “So where’s this job at Nero?” I questioned, looking at the boy. He lowered his gaze and scratched the side of his nose with his glowing devils hand, wincing when his hand brushed up against the wound on his cheek. “Job?” He mumbled, as if he didn’t know what I was talking about. “Oh, the job! It’s not serious at all. Just a few marionettes. I’ll handle it myself. I’ll be okay.” He fumbled terribly with the sentence, gritting his teeth, his facial expression saying that even he didn’t believe his own words.

He almost let out a sigh of relief as I nodded my head in a nonchalant manner, “Alright. Go on ahead.” He brushed passed me quickly without another word, taking the steps two at a time before nearly sprinting across the carpet and heading out the large double-doors of the shop. I smiled as I took in a deep breath and headed back into my room, grabbing my coat off the bed, slipping it on over my shoulders.

This should be interesting.

 


	4. The Lioness and the Tigress

I shook my head as I headed down the steps of the shop, thinking back to the conversation I had heard over the phone. It’s apparent that Nero has been speaking with these women for quite some time, although their visits to this town may be very infrequent if they see me as a threat and feel the need to stay away. I turned and headed across the carpet towards the double-doors, pausing for a brief moment as I noticed the scratches carved into the damaged surface, looking as if it had been kicked open innumerable times. What’s the point of doing something so needlessly reckless like that? I thought to myself as I opened the doors and headed out into the cold, frigid air.

I inhaled deeply, picking up Nero’s scent and the direction he had headed in down the street. I looked in the path he had taken, the lonely little sidewalk that he had treaded on not moments before, and proceeded in that direction, walking slowly. I sighed heavily as I stuffed my hands into the deep pockets of my trench coat, my breath visible in a cloud of mist. I looked up at the sky as I followed Nero’s smell, watching the clouds roll along across the brooding gray sky like wrathful and sullen souls drowning in the Styx. 

It wasn’t long until I came upon a small one-story building that looked like it could use some reconstruction in certain areas. A large sign stood above the building reading ‘Restaurant Fredi’ with ‘Fredi’ looking like it had been spray-painted on as an afterthought in a repulsive green color. Yes, it most certainly was a diner, I could tell by the stench of greasy fried food. I stood quite a ways away from the diner, but the plethora of smells assaulted me as if I were actually inside the kitchen of the establishment. I shook my head as though I could shake away the smell, that odor of grilled meat, fried potatoes, and fresh strawberries that seemed ever-so out of place. I paused as I inhaled deeply through my nostrils, simply to make sure that I was not mistaken. 

Of what use would strawberries be in a place like that? 

I looked on to see Nero entering through the front door, heading towards a booth where two rather unique looking women sat, both of whom stood up upon sight of the boy and walked over to meet him. One of the women bore an uncanny resemblance to that wretch in the photograph, so much that if it weren’t for her devilish scent, I would have thought of them as being one and the same. She dressed differently as well, not nearly as reserved, her black garments were tight-fitting and placing a very heavy emphasis on her womanly figure. She smiled sadly as she took in the boy’s disheveled appearance before pulling him into a comforting, almost maternal hug, and after several moments she unraveled herself from him and turned to her companion.

I looked the other woman, a human, a noirette who patted Nero affectionately on the arm, her appearance somewhat contrasting the she-devil beside her. Her dark hair trimmed short, her apparel white and wearing what looked like a leather holster of some kind strapped to her waist, a pair of brown spectacles resting on the bridge of her pert nose that was tainted with a fading scar. Both women led Nero back to their seat with a waitress following close behind, as business seemed nearly nonexistent and no other customers were in the diner. 

“I’m really glad to see you two,” Nero said as they all sat down, him sitting by himself on one side of the table while the two women resided on the other side. “It’s good to see you too, kid.” The raven haired lady said warmly, the blonde woman nodded in agreement. Nero smiled weakly as he scratched the side of his nose with his human hand. “Thanks lady, I haven’t had anybody call me that in a while.” He murmured, a small twinge of hurt was evident in his voice, but the ladies picked up on it easily, the both of them glancing at one another sadly before turning back to the boy. “Nero, your face.” The blonde woman murmured in concern. 

“Huh?” 

“Your cheek, there’s a cut, it’s not healing.” She said. 

Ah yes, he hasn’t been healing nearly as fast as normal lately, and I’m not really certain as to why. It’s gotten to where a simple bite mark on his shoulder would take hours to fade when normally it would take only seconds.

“I got it from while out on the job. It’ll heal on its own like it always does, Trish, don’t’ worry. Now what did you bo---“

“Really? And how did you get those bruises on your neck, from a demonic vacuum cleaner?” The raven-haired woman cut in as she removed her glasses, rising from her seat and leaning across the table for a better view. Nero grit his teeth as he quickly zipped his red hooded sweatshirt up defensively, twisting his body away from her as if she were out to cause him further harm. “It’s nothing, lady. I’m fine. I said I’m fine.” He whined in helpless frustration as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest. 

The lady wasn’t bothered in the least by Nero’s defensiveness and reached out fearlessly, yanking his zipper down, exposing the plethora bruises that I had left there the night before. The women gasped in unison before Nero managed to swat her hand away, his teeth sinking into his split lip, his face burning in embarrassment and shame. “Just what the hell has this guy been doing to you Nero?! You look like a rape victim!” The lady whispered fiercely, eyeing the small marks with harsh disdain, her quick actions and stern demeanor giving me the impression that a tigress was lurking about underneath her exterior. She said nothing more as she sat back into her seat with a huff, crossing her scarred legs.

Nero was silent as he averted the gaze of both women, hanging his head low, falling into shame the way a suicide throws himself into the path of an oncoming train. Tears burned in the boys eyes but he blinked them back, sniffling as he rubbed his nose with his devil hand, trembling lips pressed tightly together in a thin bloodless gash. The lady’s expression softened, her mouth hanging open in a silent gasp as she realized the truth behind her careless words. She back in her seat, unsure of what to say to take back her outburst and comfort the boy. “…Nero…” Trish said his name delicately; as if she were speaking to a dangerous animal that was both wounded and frightened, choosing her words carefully.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” the boys soft voice quaked as he kept his head down. “please, just tell me what you found…” The women looked at each other, unsure of how to proceed, but gave into his wishes. “Dante’s alive.” The she-devil stated. 

Of course he is, I’ve made sure of that. He would be useless to me dead.

Nero sighed heavily in relief, but seemed to keep his guard up. “And you know this because…” 

“As long as the doppelganger looks like Dante, that’s reassurance in itself that he’s alive.”

Well, I’m not so sure about that part, my lady.

“What makes you say that?” The boy questioned, not understanding, his voice was low and prickled with irritation. The woman was about to answer but closed her mouth as a waitress came up to their table, asking for orders with a forced grin that’s prevalent throughout the working-class. “We’ll both have coffee.” The blonde woman said as her companion nodded in agreement. “And for you sir?” the waitress questioned as she looked at the silver haired boy with that false-pearl smile. “I’ll…I’ll have a strawberry sundae.” The two women across from him paused and looked at each other as if Nero had said something haunting. The waitress gave him an odd look before writing down his order, thinking that it was a bit strange that someone would order ice cream in the middle of winter. “Coming right up, I’ll have your orders ready shortly,” She said as she headed off into the kitchen behind the counter. 

“Nero…” the lady murmured softly. “I…I just haven’t had one in a while, okay lady?” Nero muttered defensively at the dark-haired woman, “Anyway,” the boy continued, “what were you going to say, Trish?” 

“Nero, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this but, all throughout history, doppelgangers are known to be harbingers of death. Once a person see’s one, it won’t be long until they succumb to their own death. There are numerous records of people seeing who they believe to be are copies of themselves foreshadowing their deaths. What humans are unaware of is that what they have been calling doppelgangers all this time were actually very powerful shape-shifting demons who took on the form of whoever they wanted to kill, be it by illness or accident or some other tragedy. These demons are so insidious that there’s no known record of what one actually looks like.”

Nero nodded his head, “Yeah, I know he’s a demon, but I thought doppelgangers were supposed to look exactly like whoever it was they were copying. Like you, Trish. You could be considered the doppelganger to Eva…” Nero pointed out, seeming to have calmed down, but I could still sense him bristling. “I suppose I could, but Eva has long since passed, and I did not appear to her to warn and cause her impending death.” The boy was quiet as he placed his hand on his pocket, where I watched him put the torn photograph. “And this guy,” Nero sneered, “he has Dante’s physique right but everything else, the color of his hair, eyes, skin, it’s all the opposite of Dante.”

“You’ve told us that before. As to why he looks like that may actually be a conscious choice, as he has the ability to copy Dante’s appearance perfectly, but simply chooses not to. Although as to his reasoning for this, we just don’t know. Perhaps he has something against Dante like nearly all demons do…” The she-devil stated. Nero was silent as he pondered her words, most likely wondering what kind of grudge I would hold.

“Unless of course, you want to ask him yourself Nero,” The lady cut in to his thoughts as she folded her gloved hands daintily in her lap. Nero shook his head, “Yeah, like I’m just gonna waltz right up to him ask him. No way in hell. He…he flips his shit if I do so much as say Dante’s name…” the teen growled bitterly.

I’ve started to lose interest at this point, wondering if they were going to tell him anything useful that he could actually use against me, or if they were simply here to give him false hope and comfort. Sadly, it seemed like the former. 

“So what about Dante? You guys called me and told me you found out something about Dante. What is it?” Nero’s patience was obviously beginning to wear thin at this point as he eyed both women. The blonde she-devil massaged her eyes, visibly frustrated, looking as if she were an inexperienced mother dealing with a whining, impatient child. “Look Nero, all we know is that Dante’s still alive. And we’re getting close to finding out where he actually is but we’ll need more time, we can’t let him find out. And anything about doppelgangers that we’ve come across has hardly been of any help, but we’re trying as hard as we can, both of us. All of us.”

Nero was about to say something else when the waitress walked over towards them with a metal tray in hand, their orders on top. “Careful ladies, it’s hot.” She said aloud as she set two mugs of steaming black coffee in front of the women. “And here’s your sundae.” She had that false-pearl smile on again as she set a rather large strawberry sundae in front of Nero, laying down silverware wrapped in a napkin beside it. Both women were silent as they picked up their mugs and took quick sips, keeping watch as Nero unwrapped a silver spoon from his napkin and quietly scooped a bit of ice cream coated in strawberry syrup into his mouth. 

Something inside of Nero seemed to break as he struggled to swallow, a pained expression on his face, the sound of a wounded animal caught in his throat. “Nero?” the dark-haired lady murmured in concern as she and the blonde she-devil watched the boy intently. Silent tears streamed down his pale cheeks as he ate another spoonful, his breath trembling in between bites, as if what he was eating was making him physically ill but he still couldn’t bring himself to stop. “Me and the old man used to come here after a job…” He murmured quietly. Both women set their mugs down, listening. “He’d always order the same damn thing every single time, a fucking strawberry sundae. I’d just get a soda or a water, sometimes a burger. I told him that if it weren’t for devil hunting he’d be as big as a house. And he’d just sit there and laugh, every time. ”

The lady scoffed, smiling at Nero warmly. “That sure sounds like him. For as long as I’ve known him that’s all he’d eat. Sundaes and pizza. I mean, Dante is just one big kid after all.” The dark-haired lady took a sip of her coffee as she finished her sentence. Nero’s smile at her words was genuine, I had never seen any expression like that on his face before, but I suppose there are good reasons for that. 

“Look, Nero, if there was a way to help, we would do it. But…right now….there’s just no wa.y We’ll keep looking, you have my word, but just keep him busy before then..”

Keep him busy, Nero seemed to think.


	5. Black Frost

I stopped listening soon after that, apathetic to the point of near obliviousness.

Those women were obviously close to Nero if they are going so far as to try and help him in his predicament and to speak so fondly of old memories. The ties that bind them together must be strong. And that blonde she-devil... she must be of some importance, especially since she bears such a resemblance to that crossbreeds bitch-hound of a mother. 

I could see the three of them so clearly through the window, the women speaking in between sips of their coffee as Nero gulped down the rest of his sundae, its sweetness provoking his gluttony. Just as I was about to leave I saw Nero reach into his pocket and pull out the damaged photograph of the cur’s mother, handing it carefully to the black-haired lady with cautious human fingers, looking as if he were entrusting a coveted jewel into her possession. 

“Take care of it, please. Make copies. It’s not safe at the shop anymore.” 

I heard him say as I turned and walked away from the diner, satisfied with what I had seen and felt not even the tiniest need to stay any longer. Those women were of no threat to me as long as they felt that it was necessary to stay away, and if there was even the slightest possibility that there was a change of heart in either of them, I’m sure that I would have no trouble bringing about their untimely demises. 

But…

The word had clawed its way to the forefront of my mind, loud and guttural and wanting to be heard. 

But…

Who were they exactly? And what sort of relationship did those two have with him? 

In all the time I had spent observing Devil May Cry before I came; neither of those women were ever mentioned. Had I been careless? I had watched Sparda’s son so closely, followed him onto missions and observed his way of exterminating our kind. How quick he was to use that sword like an extension of his own arm, none too different from how an artist uses their paintbrush to create their magnum opus. So wild and reckless with hints of (dare I say) controlled elegance to it. The only difference between the painter and the hunter was their medium; the painter used colorful pigment whereas the hunter used a kind of savage violence fit for an usurper. Turning carnage into a carousel the way only a human can. 

I sighed heavily as I stopped in my tracks, my hands clenching into tight fists at my sides. 

Just what the fuck am I doing, admiring him?! I felt a harsh grimace tug at the corner of my mouth, but no such expression came into fruition as I stood alone in the snowy street, biting back the semblance the way one would bite back tears after an especially upsetting experience. 

He’s gone now and I saw to that. There’s no need to waste another thoug- 

I paused, breathing in deeply through my nostrils, the stench of snowdrop flowers and wet straw invading my senses like the stink of pitch-black smoke. Demons. 

I was on a nearby rooftop after one swift leap, then another, following the smell like a trail of breadcrumbs. As I wandered closer I licked my lips in urgent anticipation, already tasting blood, already feeling bones and muscle coming apart in my hands. There is no romance in the way I fight, no glamour; no florid and unnecessary movements. Dante would spin and gallivant around like a rose petal tossed to a violent breeze, so very fond of song and dance. I fight for the sickness, the fear, and spiteful wordlessness that comes with the death of either a human or a demon. I feed off that pain. 

The demons that I smelled, they were Frosts, more than appropriate for this time of year. Visitors from Calcytus? I could see the three of them now, those reptilian creatures encased in their crystal armor, standing at attention in the middle of a barren street like soldiers waiting for their commands. No, just three lost little snowflakes. 

Without Nero, I felt a strange sort of grotesque restlessness. I had nothing to crush between my fingers, no porcelain-doll skin to kiss and bite with my mouth. No ample tears to lick. No blood. I smirked as I leapt down onto the street, welcoming their alarmed bellowing with open arms. The devils stepped towards me cautiously, their frozen claws drawn back like the swords wielded by fairy-tale knights. “So I guess that you will have to do.” I said simply. 

-=-=-=-

The bell sang sweetly as I entered the small coffee shop, snowflakes falling from my hair and eyelashes; my boots crunching as I wiped them on the rug. I could feel the shopkeepers eyes on me as I dusted my trousers with hard slaps, my hands wet with ice crystals. “Was there a snowstorm?” I heard him ask good-naturedly, I didn’t have to look up to know that he was peering out the window, wondering if he should have brought a hat or an extra scarf in case the weather got volatile. “No sir; just took a small tumble through the snow, frost can be deadly at this time of year.” I made my voice sound polite and warm, nodding at the man who reminded me of an owl, his spectacles magnifying his brown eyes as he watched me head towards the back of the shop. 

I walked among the rows of coffee, the kilner jars carefully arranged, their labels written by hand. Baron Goto Red, Blue Mountain, Columbiana. I took in the pleasing smells and settled on an Italian roast, carrying the brown bag towards the register where the owlman stood. “To be honest, I can’t drink this stuff anymore.” He grinned sheepishly as he worked the register, his fingers looked so blue-veined and swollen as he punched away at the keys. “These are whole beans. Do you want me to grind them for you?” He asked after I handed him the money. “Please.” I smiled. 

-=-=-=-

I walked through the doors of Devil May Cry to find that Nero had since come back, sitting quietly at the edge of the front desk, keeping his head turned towards the floor, the glow from his arm dim like a dying firefly. I looked over to see that his sword and firearm were tossed haphazardly onto the sofa, forgotten and abandoned like a toddlers lost teddy bear. He swallowed as he played with the chord of the phone, curling it and uncurling it in the index finger of his devil bringer, his lips pressed together hard, his expression deep and bitter. “Back already?” I placed the bag down beside the phone before stepping away, crossing my arms firmly over my chest. 

The boy’s nose twitched as he looked down at the coffee before snatching it up with his human hand, the chord laying forgotten at his side. “…I’m not saying thank you.” He growled as he shoved past me and headed into the kitchen, the smell of coffee filling the air moments later. 

I would consider it strange if you did. 

“So how was it? The job? I didn’t expect you to be back so soon.” He didn’t answer, but I could easily guess what it was he was trying to do; weave together a lie. I wondered what he would use for his thread. The diner and the sundae, those two women, the false-hope conversation. How he would try to intertwine it all together into believable deceit. Could he do it? 

“The job was nothing.” 

Of course not. 

“Just some dumb fucking prank call. I’ve been getting a lot of those lately.” He sniffled and wiped his pale eyes with that clenched devils fist. “So you went and there was nothing.” I said. 

Nero shook his head, his eyes as dull and lifeless as ice. “Nothing at all.” 


	6. Ichor

The front door to the shop opened, followed by a soft yet tired voice. “Hello? Is there anyone here?”

I changed, faster than any eye could follow. My black hair turned silver, scarlet eyes to glacial, copper skin to porcelain. I turned to smile at the woman with a resplendent flourish, my red coat billowing behind me like that of a magician; smoke and mirrors and doves dipped in blood. “Yes ma’am! How may I help you?”

I tried so hard to not grimace, to gag. I felt like I was wearing the skin of a slaughtered pig, slick and hot with its foul smell and entrails. I wanted to puke until there was nothing left in me. But alas, appearances need to be kept where they count. Suspicion from a human is the absolute worst thing for me at this point in time

“This is where I go if I need help with a… demon, right?” She questioned, glancing nervously around the shop, her gaze lingering over the various trophies on the wall; demon skulls with their weapons stabbed through them. The Hell Vanguard, the Death Scissors, the Assault, the Scarecrow. All slain by his hand and mounted in such a humiliating fashion, hanging limp like rag dolls. No peace after death for these poor fiends. Although, I am quite familiar with the appeal.

 “Yes, that’s right. Welcome to Devil May Cry! We’ll do everything we can to help you! Just say the word, lady, and we’ll deliver!” I gave her a Cheshire-cat grin. I spread my arms out as if they were wings of a scarlet tanager, a wild songbird that was vivid with excitement. Mirth is the first word in the half-breeds language when it comes to his interactions with others, even if it is just a facade. She gave an uneasy grin at my theatrics as I led her towards the desk and asked for her information; name, address, phone number, etc. as I had watched the mutt do countless times with other clients.

_‘How may I help you?’_

_‘ Just gimme your info and we’ll be squared away, no problem!’_

_‘Really? These guys? I could kick their asses with a rubber chicken and a paper plate.’_

Just as I was to ask her to continue I was rudely interrupted by the sound of a mug shattering on the floor. I looked over to see glass shards scattered around Nero’s feet, black coffee staining the scuffed wooden floors near his boots. He stared at me with uncomprehending, clouded eyes; lips moving soundlessly like a fish impaled on a spear. It was then that I saw how much Nero missed the mongrel; with every atom of himself, every drop of blood that gurgled through that hideously bruised heart of his.

What did he really expect to see? What was it that he really wishing for?  

That it really _was_ Dante who was talking to the client, smiling with exuberant warmth. Still right here, hadn’t gone anywhere. That just this morning they had breakfast with those women at their beloved diner, ordered their favorite foods and talked, talked away. And that everything I had said, everything I had done, was really just some god-awful nightmare that could be laughed about over the pizza they would inevitably order for dinner later on.

_Hey Dante, I had the craziest dream that you were gone..._

_Gone? Pffft! That’s a stupid dream. You’re not getting rid of me that easy, Kid!_

 “Sorry about that. Please make yourself at home; my partner here will be with you in a sec.” I chuckled apologetically at the woman before walking towards the youth. Nero’s face flared with embarrassment as he bent down to pick up the broken pieces, his hands shaking violently as I stepped closer, twitching and fearful. “Hey, there’s no need to worry about that. I’ll get it up for ya, butter fingers!” I chuckled warmly as I gripped his shoulder gently, my touch as welcomed as the tingling legs of a spider. He pressed his lips together tightly, almost as if he were expecting me to grate his face across the shattered glass as punishment for the interruption.

He turned his head away as I leaned in closely, snaking the glass shard from in between his devil fingers and clutching it in my own. I whispered, my voice low and soft. “If you would be so kind as to assist that woman with her troubles I would very much appreciate it.”

“E-eat shit, fuck head.” His teeth clenched hard, his tone tight and sharp though brittle, like a knife made of spun sugar. I let my hand fall away from him with an exasperated breath, biting back the urge to throw him against the wall.

“Or would you rather I send the sow away? And use this time to-”

He quickly rose to his feet without another word, glass cracking like animal bones under his boots as he made his way towards the woman. Cautious pleasantries were exchanged between them; from what I have seen, Nero was never any good with people. Always so shy, rubbing his nose and avoiding eye contact as if one fleeting look would turn them to stone. He could hold entire conversations with their shoes or his hands, their hips or the wall behind them, and never spare a single glance.

I slowly began to pick up the pieces of the broken mug, letting the voices of Nero and the client blur and bleed into one another, sentences sloppily stumbling over each other, disembodied and susurrant as the lost thoughts of a ghost. I noticed only a few stray words here and there. Family plot. Float. Tails. Red.

As I caught sight of the reflection staring back at me from the steaming coffee stain on the floor, their voices trailed off into nothing, as meaningless as white noise on a dead channel. Silver bangs falling across eyes that did not belong to me, a brawler’s jawbone riddled with stubble due to laziness and age. The missing man in red; Nero’s dearest imago, bathing in the black.

Perhaps I should check on him, see how well he’s faring. It has been quite a while.

 I looked up to see the woman rummaging through her purse and place something small in Nero’s human hand, giving him her most pleasant smile, though the quiet twin of pity lingered there as well. “I’m sorry, these are the only kind I have but go ahead and take them.”

“Uhhh…thanks.”

Hesitation was followed by the small rustle of paper being torn. When Nero turned towards the couch I saw what it was that she had given him. A band aid covered the cut on his cheek, colored a newborn baby blue. “Hey, looks good on ya, sport! Really brings out your eyes!” I joked with an amused laugh that did not reach the rest of me.

She only wanted to help soften something that she knew nothing about, as sensitive human women often do.

 Nero said nothing as he grabbed his broadsword and firearm from the couch and slinging them over his lean shoulders. The lost teddy bear reclaimed. “I’ll escort you back to your house and take care of the problem there, okay?” He tried to sand his hard voice down to something even and approachable, the voice of an old friend, a pleasant neighbor, a good and obedient son.

As Nero and the woman headed out of the shop I rose to my feet and cooed caustic words of good luck from the tip-top of my heart.

“Fingers crossed, _Kid.”_

The reverberating echo from the slammed door was the only response I received.

I paused and listened intently as their footsteps faded away. Relief nourished my insides like mothers milk as I changed back to my more comforting form; trading the pigs’ bloody skin for a black silk robe. I quickly cleaned up the mess, sopping up the coffee with an old rag and throwing the glass away, though I saved the one piece I had taken from Nero; clutching it in my hand as I headed towards the restroom in the back.

I clicked my tongue as I filled the sink with water, tapping the fingers of one hand along its faded brim and rolling the glass piece across the knuckles of my other. Only a small trickle of blood is necessary.

I slipped the glass into the soft skin of my thumb, slicing it open as easily as an overripe fig, tiny pricks of pain as inconsequential as a paper-cut. I watched as my blood seeped out of the wound, thick and black as toxic paint, letting it drop down into the sink; turning the water as black as ink in a matter moments. I leaned in closely as an image began to appear, morph and ripple in the water with incoherent flashes of color; with a dull red being the most prominent on display.

Has the Minotaur found his way any further through the maze? Perambulated the area for an exit?

 “Still alive, I see. And exactly where I left you.” I sighed, relieved.

 


	7. Visiting the Bastard

You irksome dilemma, how are things? 

When I laid my eyes on him I felt a change in the air, reality warping within itself, feeling heavy and temperate, his fervent energy radiating all around as if he were standing in this very room with me. Instinctively, innately, I felt a kind of hot panic rising up within me, swelling in my limbs and chest, tightening almost painfully against the inside of my skull, ripping out the sliver of relief that I had been feeling only moments before. Fight or flight, freeze or fawn; which option will I choose to face a threat that is not even in this plane of existence anymore? 

I watched as the half-breed tilted his head up in the darkness, eyes darting to and fro, fingers twitching in restlessness; sensing me but not seeing me. 

“So, back again Mr. Copycat? When was the last time you checked up on me, an hour ago? Maybe two? Look, I appreciate the concern, but I just want to get out of here. The Kid’s countin’ on me to pick up dinner, wouldn’t want him to go hungry.” 

He has no idea how long it’s been…

I watched as he shook his head in disdain, sucking his teeth as he looked about irritably; narrowing his shaded blue eyes at the black lifelessness all around him. 

“So what’s your plan exactly? Are you living at my shop, eating my food, stealing my customers? Is this some sort of Invasion of the Bodysnatchers bullshit and you’re just mimicking me without emotion? I mean c’mon!” He laughed loudly with that absurd cheerfulness of his, his voice carrying along the empty corridor in a booming echo. “Throw me a bone here, dude!” 

No, I will not throw the dog a bone. 

…

Though yes, I am currently residing at your shop, living your life; playing house in your precious little domicile. A skilled actor immersing himself in the role of the infamous demon hunter, a stepson of Sparda. Everything that you thought was yours is mine now, outcross, even if your life is not what one would call enviable, or even livable for that matter. But I am managing as best I can, and you needn’t worry, your office is in good hands, I am taking special care of it. 

(And even better care of the boy.) 

“So is this like, an evil underground lair or something? I can hardly see anything! Maybe instead of putting me here you should have lured in an electrician or at least a flashlight salesman...” 

Oh hardy har har, you’re hilarious. 

Even with his enhanced vision, there was not much of anything to look at there, one roundabout glance and you will see everything that needs to be seen. A single endless hallway, identical doors on either side, all of them locked; all of them consistent in their sameness. An empty circle of endless repetition. 

I watched closely, my face inches from the reflection, as Dante slammed a clenched fist against one of the innumerable doors, powerful enough to cause the water in the sink to ripple, but not enough to cause any actual harm to the door. Were he in the human world that wood would have flown off the hinges and splintered into nothing against the wall, and he would have used the doorknob as a makeshift footbag. 

But it doesn’t matter at all how strong he is, not in that place anyway. It’s only in there he can be considered a ghost of sorts, a living phantom trapped in a small black world frozen in time. Minutes and seconds stumble and stagger over one another, stretched and malformed. Though he has no idea, and is not the type to be fickle and let panic blind his set objective. But due to his inability to tell time, he feels as if everything is fine. Like nothing particularly damaging is going on in the outside world, that Nero can take care of himself if I were to misbehave. 

“Still nothing. Is this some sort of weird demon blood ritual shit? Is this whole place made out of adamantium? Why the hell are all of these doors locked?” He tested the doorknob before shaking his head, looking about in fractious impatience before walking further down the hallway and testing another door, then another. 

“Your favorite band is the Doors isn’t it?” 

Those doorways are not there for aesthetics sake, or some esoteric little jigsaw puzzle that needs to be solved. They are reminders, not sentimental, more like mementos (A lock of hair, an article of clothing, a body part) of those whose forms I have copied over these years. It really isn’t too different from the corpses slain by Dante that hang like oil paintings on the office walls. 

And so he is stuck. Stuck with such a minute chance of ever escaping; as lonely as a penny lying forgotten at the bottom of a wishing-well. We never fought, never battled. Unlike what Nero and those women think, I never laid a finger on him, nor he I. I know that to challenge him was to run wildly into the open arms of death itself chanting ‘I surrender. End me.’ 

Dante had to be worn down slowly, the way water carves its path through hard stone. The way a harmless little seed sleeping in the soil will one day grow into the tree from which a corpse will hang. Instead of challenging him, I watched him, studied him for months as if he were a single-celled organism slithering beneath a microscope. 

I had examined him intently from dark places at Devil May Cry. Crouched in the corner of a poorly lit room; a shadow that creeps into edge of your eye then slips away the moment you turn to look at it, a trick of the light, something easy to push aside and ignore. I was half-formed, a black ghost; a man made of darkness. I had to alter my scent so that he did not know that I was there, adjusted it carefully to the familiar smells of the shop. The hardwood flooring, the molded bathroom, the stale gun smoke and rock-salt grease of an atrocious American diet. The office was dingy and poorly lit, pieces of it always cloaked in shadows no matter how many lights were on, there were innumerable places to hide and listen; to hide and look. 

I had witnessed the innocent jocularity between him and Nero; the playful insults and juvenile competitiveness not uncommon among close friends. The half- breed would rustle Nero’s hair while touching his arm or shoulder or hip, snickering and laughing like a schoolboy with a crush. Nero would usually curl into himself and scratch his nose, not at all accustomed to being the object of such attention, let alone affection. Though the boy was as shyly receptive as he could be, yet was always firm when he wanted to be left alone and untouched. And the cur respected those boundaries and would back away, holding his hands up. 

I saw all of this and vowed to do the opposite. 

I had followed the two of them out onto missions more than once, though only long enough to witness the fray, never the aftermath as I was far more interested in Dante’s fighting style than his habitual idiosyncrasies at that time. I had seen enough of that at the shop. 

“I gotta say,” His voice sliced its way through my thoughts like a knife throwers blade. “real cheap shot pretending to be my big bro like that. I’m talking pullin’ my hair below the belt kind of cheap.” He paused for a while after he spoke; his open palm placed on yet another locked door, his fingers tracing meaningless patterns over the wood, shapes or letters. “How…how did you even know about him?” He questioned softly in a voice that was not used to asking such things aloud. 

Isn’t it obvious Dante? I wanted to say to him. I didn’t conjure up your precious ani out of thin air using black magic and bits of luck as my main ingredients. You showed him to me without realizing it, that gaping wound that ate away at half of your soul, you might as well have been dangling a piece of your heart on a butchers hook right before my eyes saying ‘Look! Look!’. 

I remember that night; he was gulping down whiskey and beer in the quiet stillness of the witching hour. Swaying on such unsteady feet, though he never faltered, never fell; even as he was drowning in oblivion. Standing up and speaking coherently with enough alcohol swimming in his bloodstream to stop the hearts of ten men, he had his demonic heritage to thank for that. I had observed this sort of behavior before, not only in him but in other men, men who were wounded; men who were weak. 

‘Happy birthday…happy fucking birthday…’ His voice was tuneless and stained with melancholy, like the last song played on a music box before it broke down completely. He looked terrible and unkempt, his lank silver hair faded to the color of spoiled milk, his clothing lying in tangles near his feet, his underwear hanging low off of his hips. Feral. Wild. Unloved. 

He had brushed his hand through that mess of hair, slicking it back, out of his face, his bloodshot eyes. It was strange, that one miniscule gesture and he looked like another person entirely, a solemn stranger. As different as the blistering sun and the evocative moon, the grinning faces of comedy and the sorrowful frown of tragedy. It was then, staring hatefully at his reflection in the mirror, half-naked and half-insane; that he would speak. Not in his normal voice, but in a tone far different from his own, colder. Or rather his pitiful, drunken attempt at stoic vehemence. 

“to us...” 

The hair, the voice, I had initially thought that this was some sort of alternate personality that came to the surface only after severe intoxication. 

But I was wrong. 

His hair fell loose front of his eyes and he would bury his face in his hands, his shoulders trembling with quiet, choked sobs. “Miss you bro…” He’d whisper to his haggard reflection, thinking that no one was there to hear. 

That was what it was. A long lost brother who he only spoke of when he was hopelessly, sloppily drunk. Whether this brother was dead or simply missing, I do not know. Other demons only ever spoke of Dante, the son of a traitor who possessed the strength of a god, never once entertaining the possibility of another mongrel gallivanting about. 

It was that ugly side of him that Nero had ignored, either out of respect for the elder hunter or mere reticent tolerance. After that night of heavy alcohol consumption, (the unbirthday of birthdays) Nero had cleaned, tight-lipped with quiet enervation, fighting to keep his hands steady as he picked up each bottle that lay scattered around as Dante lay unconscious on the hallway floor. The younger wanted to hit him with his devil bringer, I could tell by the way his anger emanated off of him like smoke from scattered coals that still had the potential to ignite. 

But for whatever reason that I will never understand, he did nothing. The boy did not make any mention of the incident, and dutifully fed Dante aspirin and water as soon as he woke up. They had even used those same alcohol bottles for target practice later that day, though Dante’s foolish behavior from that night had placed a blemish of black bile on that time. This is a pity for the mutt, as those are Nero’s last memories of him. 

“Listen you! If I get out of here only to find the shop on fire and the Kid runnin’ around hopped up on dope, I’m gonna be pissed!” 

At that point I knew how to lure him away. 

Some demonic activity at the edge of town, (A flock of Scarecrows) and just enough luck for him to answer the call by himself. Dante was reckless, arrogant, and I knew that he would not bother to leave an address or recite his mission even if Nero were standing in the room with him. 

I remember him speaking to the shopkeeper when I made my move. The flash of a glaucous grey long coat, silver hair combed back, emitting an odour that was both familial and familiar, a scent identical to his but peppered with other smells; bitter almonds and white oleander. I headed towards a clearing, small and isolated from everywhere else, my steps quiet and harefooted. He followed, leaving the befuddled shopkeeper mid-sentence and dashed off after me as if I were a piece of shredded meat and him a starving dog, hungry for what he thought was salvation. 

He was fast, dizzyingly so; he almost caught up to me before I got him precisely where I wanted him. It was a clearing that was once a cemetery, the stones were gone but the dead were still there, asleep under the earth, under our feet. I remember the both of us standing there, demon brethren, Dante looking into my face and seeing his own. My expression was unreadable, but then I frowned and straightened my posture, narrowed my eyes, looked away. That seemed to be the proper thing to do. There was a strange hum in the air as he stepped closer towards me, almost staggering, almost falling, almost crying. Almost. 

‘…Verg? Vergil?’ 

It was the odour that clouded his senses, drove out reason and rationale. You can shut out sound, you can close your eyes and no longer see, but smell is different. You breathe it in deep inside of you; it gets into your lungs, your heart, and your blood. Even if it’s unpleasant, even if it makes you retch and heave and you try to block it out, it remains. Smell is powerful, nearly magical; it conjures up memories, both forgotten and unforgettable. 

The cur was so focused on my face that he did not notice what I was standing in, a black stain, a pool of blood, pure doppelganger blood, an entrance into another realm entirely; my home. He grabbed both of my shoulders and repeated what he thought was my name, his teeth clenched, nostrils flaring, poisoning himself further. I glanced down and saw that his feet were planted firmly on the stain, which was turning into a puddle that soaked his shoes, but he did not notice. Then I made my final move, I placed my hand on his shoulder, almost in reassurance as I whispered to him. ‘Hello Brother.’ 

And I smiled. 

Then we were swallowed, the both of us, as if the earth had opened up beneath our feet and welcomed us into her gaping maw. But it wasn’t the ground, it was the blood that swallowed him, first his ankles, then his knees, and me as well, but I allowed it. It was my blood after all. 

I kept my eyes on his face, my grin like a knife to his throat as we both fell down into the darkness, a different kind of darkness, the kind that cradled me but strangled him. Still, for whatever reason, he held on to me tightly, his fingers like claws digging into my skin, bewilderingly desperate as he held me close to his chest, trying (I surmised) to protect me from what he thought was a threat beyond our control. No, it wasn’t me that he frantically tried to hold onto, it was Vergil. 

Dearest brother. Dearest smother. 

“You bastard.” Dante snarled at me from his shadowed prison in the water, “You…”

What I had done, what I had taken from him when he embraced me as if I were his dearest imago… it wasn’t noticeable or easily missed. It was small, a coin taken from the hoard of a sleeping dragon. A piece of his power, as small as a tangled spool of red thread, that fragment of his half-soul. 

Power is just like anything else, too much of it can be fatal. It could change you; warp you into something cancerous and unrecognizable. Overloading every sense you possess until you lose your mind completely. Dante is a battery, fuel, food kept in a freezer for later consumption. Something that needed to be digested one piece at a time, chewed thoroughly then swallowed. 

“You’re a real asshole you know that Mr. Copycat?” 

He isn’t too badly affected by it. He still has the lions share after all. 

I remember how I shoved him away and watched him fall down into that different shade of black. He had a strange look on his face as he fell, eyes glazed with heavy sorrow and astonished recognition (something like this had happened before) as his empty hands reached out for me as if I were his lifeline, his savior, begging. His form became smaller and insignificant, the red of his coat becoming duller, fading away. 

And so it was finished. 

I pulled myself back out, onto that clearing, on my hands and knees, my blood draining down into the soil like rainwater or motor oil. I rose to my uneven feet and smoothed out my garish red trench coat, brushed my hand through my lank silver hair, and mouthed the words ‘the demon’s been taken care of, Sir. It was a walk in the park. Whatever you got on you is fine by me.’ 

“I’m gonna find my way out of this boring-ass shit hole,” I saw that he had his hand on another inert doorknob. “and when I do, you’re gonna pay a damn steep price!” Then he coughed, and coughed again. 

I’m looking forward to it. 

I smirked as I unstopped the drain, the black water swirling, the image of the demon hunter distorted like a photograph printed on wet tissue paper as it gurgled down into the sink, into oblivion, gulped down completely. 

And then I was alone again. 


	8. Into the Circe's Layer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I tried so hard to get this one in before the New Year, but alas, editing kicked my butt. :(  
> **   
>  **Anyway, thanks so much for the reviews you guys, I love them!**

I ran my tongue over my lips, tasting meat as I wiped up the tiny black droplets in the sink with my thumb, careful not to leave any sort of trace behind; momentarily reassured by the half-breeds helpless confusion and relaxed nonchalance that he would not be coming back any time soon. ‘A damn steep price’, his irritated threat echoed inside of my head as I exited the washroom and tossed the glass sliver into the garbage with the other shards. 

I smiled through a small twinge of instinctual uneasiness; telling myself that it was an impotent threat from an impotent man and nothing more. He was there and I was here, it would take something worth far more than any miracle for him to find his way back from a place where time was lost to the living. I exhaled softly, my attention flickering back over to the washroom for only a moment before heading over towards the billiard table and snatching up a pool cue. The striped red billiard ball was the first to be knocked into the pocket, the solid yellow sphere followed close behind, then the striped blue. 

I paused when I heard the unmistakable sound of Nero’s boots crunching down into the snow, heavy and uneven as if he were staggering in vertigo after being dealt a heavy blow. I leaned back from my game, the wooden pool cue resting on my shoulder as the office doors were thrown open. A frigid flurry of winter air swirled in to greet me, along with a very nauseous demon boy. 

I watched with quiet interest as he tossed his sword haphazardly aside where it clanged loudly on the floor, no doubt leaving its teeth marks in the already ragged wood. He quickly pushed his way past me in a flash of white and phosphorescent blue, his glimmering devils hand pressed hard against his mouth, his human hand clutching at his stomach as he ran into the washroom where he started to vomit. It was not the odour of Nero’s puke, the stench of fruit and cream and stomach acid that caught my attention, I pushed that aside; it was another smell entirely that clouded my senses. 

Almost… _Lilin_ in nature.

I set the pool cue down and walked towards the bathroom, listening intently him retching, coughing, choking, heaving. The stench became stronger with each step I took. Split nightshade and lemonade candy so sweet that it stung my nostrils and made my tongue twist across the back of my teeth. 

It was a feminine scent that caressed the air with her long nails, wafted all around like the heavy perfume left behind by a woman long gone. It was something else entirely, something oddly familiar that made me want to twitch. I frowned as my red eyes widened in silent recognition, the images of black leather clothing and long blonde hair bolting through my mind in a quick flash of onyx and gold. 

That lioness. That she-devil. 

What was her name? 

Trish? 

I pushed the door open and peered inside, finding the youth curled up against the toilet, clutching both sides of the brim as if to keep from collapsing into a limp heap on the floor. I scoffed and shook my head, eyeing the chunks of half-digested food that floated in the bowl before settling my attention on the boy. His silver hair dulled to the tint of dandelion floss; the blue band-aid that the client had given him was gone and had not been replaced. Blood and mucus and frothy saliva smeared across his face, his beautiful mouth; panting and dripping. 

Am I the cause of such sickness? 

As I darkened the doorway I wondered, did the she-devil and human lady meet Nero at the job, or was it afterwards? Did he notify them somehow or was it a serendipitous coincidence? Regardless, she did embrace him; I can smell it in spite of the vomit, in his hair, in his clothing. It is very dangerous for a demon to have the kind of scent that lingers on like that, after they are gone. I sniffed the air again. 

Very dangerous. 

“That woman hugged you.” I said in a tone so dull it sounded as if it were a stray afterthought. The boys’ bloodshot eyes fell on me and narrowed in anger; but alas, he was too ill to say anything, to do anything as I stepped inside and closed the door softly behind me. 

“What?” Nero croaked out, his voice sounding irritated and scraped sore as he rested his forehead on the porcelain brim, saliva dribbling down his chin as he spoke. 

“The client,” I lied as I smiled kindly at him. “she hugged you before you left did she not?” I knelt down beside him and met his gaze. The youth swallowed dryly after a few moments then looked away, perhaps wondering how I knew. Or maybe he just did not want to be close to me. 

“Well yeah,” He sniffled and wiped his rosy pink nose with his clenched devils fist. “they kinda do that sometimes. It’s nothin’ new. She was nice.” 

“Ah, I see.” I breathed in deeply once more to commit the smell to memory, to lock it away in the vault of my mind, stored among countless others. I stood up. 

Nero coughed as he struggled to stand as well, flushing the toilet then leaning onto it for support. When I offered my hand he only shook his head and pushed it away. I watched as he swayed like a tall stack of pale teacups, ready to tip over and shatter. 

_Oh Dante, if you could see your beloved boy now it would shred your heart to ribbons._

“Make sure to have a good wash.” I said plainly as I turned to leave. 

“You smell awful.” 

-=-=-=-=

It has been two days since Nero had been with those women at the diner, at the job. He would not look at me, careful to keep his head down as he mumbled one excuse or another before wandering off by himself. The office phone would ring sparingly, and Nero was always so quick to snatch it up, and would run out the door without a single glance to spare in my direction. I did not follow him, had no desire to as each time he came back, his own scent clung to him like a shroud, a funeral pall of loneliness. 

He also had difficulty sleeping, tossing and turning on his mattress at night, or pacing here and there in the early hours of the morning; his naked feet scuffing across the floor. Each morning he would begrudgingly trudge down the stairs, his steps a little slower, his head hung a little lower, drained. 

I kept my hands to myself, well-behaved much to Nero’s wordless relief I am sure. I would sit at the half-bloods desk, in his chair, turning the she-devils memorized scent over in my mind; like an antique coin with some unknown calligraphy etched into it. Needing to be deciphered, to be known. I thought back to the diner, to the lioness’ human companion, their fruitless search for answers. 

I could go out and find them, figure out if they had found anything useful against me, anything at all. One can never be too careful about such things, and I’ve been incredibly comfortable as of late, having been solidified after I had checked up on hapless Dante. 

It is nightfall now. Nero was resting, wrapped in his security blanket, his life-support system; figuratively speaking anyway. The boy was sprawled across the couch; his headphones pulled over his ears though no music of any kind was playing. He had covered his eyes with his human hand, his unkempt black shirt riding up past his hips, exposing the silver pubic hair on his stomach. The aroma of fresh black coffee filled the air from the bubbling pot in the kitchen. A children’s animation program was airing on the television in front of him with the sound turned down low. A yellow kitchen sponge was talking to a robot crab and they were- I really don’t understand any of it at all. 

I swallowed dryly as I took a quiet moment to observe Nero’s sleeping form, his delicately handsome face, his pink lips chapped and peeling like paint. His demon arm was slug carelessly over his chest, glistening in harmony with his heavy breathing, his pulse. 

Bright. Dim. Bright. Dim. 

“Nero…” I cooed his name as softly as a whisper, nearly reached out to tousle his hair but stayed my hand. I watched as the light from his arm started to flicker, glaring brilliantly in tune with his quickening heart rate. He whimpered and cringed in his sleep, compulsively yanked his shirt down over his stomach, pressed his thighs tightly together. It seems as if comfort is a stranger to him now. 

Are you dreaming about me? 

I chuckled as I walked across the foyer towards the double doors, heading out into the cold winter night. The she-devil’s smell still fresh on my mind. Even if Nero woke up right then, he would not dare follow me. 

-=-=-=-=

The streetlamps illuminated the snow on the street in a soft amber glow, as faded as the light from a heavy-eyed sunset. 

I inhaled deeply as I walked, licked the air for any trace of that devilish familiarity. I shook my head as I made my way towards the diner in harefooted steps, moving quickly, flawlessly through the darkness. I stopped in front of the old brick building, blackened and lifeless; I let my eyes flutter close. 

Breathing, just breathing.

Reaching out for any sort of trace, a remnant, a left-over fragrance of lemonade and nightshade to rip out of the air and grab hold of. I could smell other things, things that were of no importance to me. The exhaust fumes from vehicles long since passed, cooking oil used to fry foods within the walls of the diner, the rock salt poured across the sidewalks to make them easier to stroll along for the uncoordinated humans. Useless little stenches. I sighed heavily as I turned and continued down the street, moving just a bit slower, feeling the need to be thorough. I licked the air once more then stopped in my tracks, startled. 

There it was. 

I broke into an abrupt run, clearing one street, then another, chasing that poisoned echo to its very source. Streetlamps and gutter-rat buildings blurred together in an incoherent haze as the smell became stronger, more vivid, more alive. Unkempt neon bars and boorish gentlemen’s clubs gave way to introverted book stores, quiet cafes and small family owned shops. I slowed to a light saunter, and soon stopped entirely, finding myself glowering at the front doors of a small inn that was tucked away like an old book lost in a dusty cupboard. 

Uncertainty nibbled on my insides as I quietly circled the building, stepping through the empty parking lot. I eyed each darkened window, listened intently for the women’s voices, and inhaled deeply again to pin-point which room it was they were residing in and…-

Ah. 

After one swift bound I was balancing on the ledge just outside of a second-story window, peering into the small unlit room, my hands placed flat against the smooth frosted glass. It was void of life though the she-devils’ smell was still there, along with what I assumed was the scent of the human lady, incredibly strong; they had departed from here not too long ago. 

A slow smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as I stepped inside, through the icy window, past the threshold and the glass, finding myself inside of their layer. It is an ability that I was born with, though not at all unique to me, other demons can do this as well. To be able to soundlessly enter any sort of room as long as it is dark or at the very least poorly lit; in and out as easily as black smoke through the eyelet of a lace curtain. I simply can’t go about kicking open doors and smashing windows like a clumsy oaf every time I wish to arrive or depart, now can I? 

As I stepped in the cramped space I saw that the room was in a state of chaotic disarray; windblown and lived-in and human. Innumerable books, printed documents and notes of all kinds were scattered about on a small table, along with three handguns and a cartridge bullets that glittered like silver jewelry. A portable computer lay closed on the tangled sheets of the single unmade bed, an envelope set beside it. Outer clothing and salacious undergarments littered the floor in splashes of fabric as quietly colorful as pastel candy. A pink brassiere latched itself onto my foot when I moved through the darkness and headed over to the cluttered table, I kicked it off as I picked up a coffee-stained slip of paper; sending other pages fluttering to the floor in a heap as I read its contents. Fax numbers, phone numbers, and electronic mailing addresses to hospitals and universities were scribbled in a hurried feminine scrawl; some were highlighted while others had been scratched out in angry harsh marks. 

I picked up another page, a picture this time with ‘Where is Dante?’ written at the top in capital letters. It was a map of the entire city with various locations circled in red. All of which I recognized to be a number of previous devil-hunting jobs that the cur had taken up shortly before his disappearance, though none of them were anywhere near where I had lured him away. Perhaps the women had gotten this information from Nero during one of their prior visits, and were trying their best to look for any sort of pattern or clue or lead. Anything at all. 

I sighed heavily, the papers falling from my fingers as I made my way over towards the unkempt bed and sat down on the twisted sheets; next to the computer and manila envelope. The smell that invaded my senses right then was potent enough for me to nearly cover my nose. The scents of both women, the nightshade of the she-devil and a strong floral perfume worn by the human lady; spiraled into one another, as feverishly sweet as poisoned blossoms. 

They…are mates? 

I picked up the sticky-hot smell of sweat, the fragrant wax of smeared lipstick, saliva left over from opened-mouth kisses, and that female honeydew of arousal. They were together in this bed, writhing, pleasuring one another. (What did they use, a tongue, a finger, or a foreign object?) Was it a simple need for comfort that drove them into each other’s arms, or was it a sort of wild desperation that stemmed from the growing hopelessness of their situation that could only be quelled by physical release? 

I smirked, pleased (and disgusted) with this new information as I reached over and opened the manila envelope; pouring out photographs onto that odious bed. The half-bloods mother was smiling gently at me again and again from numerous copies, all differing in size. Some were larger than the original, meant to be hung from walls; while others were small enough to be carried around snug in a billfold. I scanned each picture briskly for creases and tears, noting that the original was not among them. It seems as if the human lady made good on her promise to Nero. 

It’s almost touching. 

I rose from the bed; a copy of the photo clenched in my fist as I headed towards the window and looked out onto the empty parking lot. 

It seemed like all these women had to rely on were themselves and these few resources. Going to the police and reporting the half-breed missing would get them nowhere. It is simply improbable when he’s safe and sound at home. This is not a situation where they can point their painted fingers at me and say ‘That’s not him, that’s not the real Dante; that’s just a copy. He took him away. You have to believe us.’ They would be buried under a sanitarium before they could murmur another word. And I would just stand there and laugh with my silver hair and blue eyes and garish red trench coat. 

I paused when I heard a low rumble, like the godless gunfire of thunder rolling off in the distance, getting closer. A motorcycle, fresh cherry bright, rolled into view. I watched as it shot across the snow and into the parking lot with a deafening roar; two figures huddled together on its back, one blonde and the other a noirette. 

So they’re back. I looked on as they dismounted, the human lady taking a moment to grab something that was mounted on the side of the bike, a gigantic metal tube that she slung effortlessly over her shoulder as if it were a small grey satchel. Together they began heading towards the building. The she-devil hooked her arm around the humans’ waist, pulling her close, both of them glimmering under the bronze colored streetlights; swaddled in their long black coats trimmed with white fur. Wherever they had gone did not give them the hope nor information that they were looking for, I could tell in how slowly they walked, how tense they looked, how exhausted. 

Then the human lady, she slipped; the icy sidewalk had caught her heeled boot. She would have fallen if it were not for the she-devils arm wrapped strong around her waist, holding her up, keeping her steady. The two of them stopped, clutching onto one another, as still as any dead thing frozen mid-stride. 

I watched as they began to chuckle, softly at first, almost tearful, then a sirens song of girlish laughter left the both of them, taking me by surprise; and for a moment I wondered if they had gone mad. The she-devil leaned in and silenced her companion with a kiss on the lips, passionate yet chaste; a disgustingly human symbol of their union. Something that I would never do. 

“Have a look at this, Unholy Mother.” I said to the dead woman in the photograph as I held it up to the window so that she could see. “Isn’t it horrid?” She did not answer me, and did not scream when I let her fall to the floor. 

The women were out of my sight now, having entered the building. I paused and wondered briefly if I should leave out through the window, and head back from whence I came, back to Devil May Cry. I shook my head. No, I will not leave. No, I will not retreat. 

I am not finished here just yet. 

I smelled them, perfume and nightshade. I heard them, womanly voices and high-heels cantering across the floor like marbled deer hooves. I sighed, licked my lips, and closed my eyes just as the door opened and the light turned on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I hope everybody had a good holiday! Please leave kudos or a review if you have the time, they are like sunshine to me! :)**


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